The Firebird
by AnxietyGrrl
Summary: A revelation throw's Nikolas's life into chaos. Some familiar faces return to shake up Port Charles. Secrets come to light. Relationships change and grow. Meanwhile, a sinister plot could put everyone in danger. You know... Soap stuff. (Pairings will eventually lean toward Laura/Stefan and Nik/Robin)
1. Chapter 1

**General Hospital: "The Firebird"  
><strong>**by AnxietyGrrl (2014)**

Author's Note: I've been kicking around this idea for a year now, but only recently began to write it. It is a WIP, but I was afraid if I waited until it was finished, the show would get too far ahead of me. It's set now-ish, or in the not-too-distant future. For the most part, it incorporates canon only through Robin's departure in 2014 (with a few exceptions). Anything significantly different will hopefully be apparent. Feel free to message me with any questions! The focus will be on a core group of characters with the whole canvas as a backdrop-imagine I'm fast-forwarding through the other storylines. The inspiration for the story was part fix-it, part wish fulfillment, part exploration of some new ideas that intrigued me, and part '90s nostalgia. Oh, and fun. I hope it's fun.

With regards to all legal, scientific, medical, and geographic matters, I promise to hold myself to only the highest standards of soap opera accuracy.

* * *

><p><strong>CASSADINE ISLAND<strong>

_A long time ago..._

"Do you like it?" the smiling man asked the young prince.

"Yes. Thank you, Great Uncle Victor." Nikolas held the glittering egg carefully, just as Victor had. It was pretty. He didn't care about pretty things, really, but he could tell its prettiness made it important.

"It's very special to our family. Just like you." From the corner of his eye, Nikolas saw his Uncle Stefan take a step toward him. Victor stood straight but at ease before the fireplace, still smiling.

The light of the fire danced over the jeweled enamel shell, and Nikolas thought of the stories Uncle used to read him from the red book of Russian folk tales, stories of captive princesses and evil sorcerers. "Is it... magic?"

Victor laughed. "No, I'm afraid not. Perhaps it's lucky, though. Yes, a good luck charm! It escaped Russia with our ancestors. Traveled the world, passed from one generation of Cassadines to the next. And now, it comes to you... Prince Nikolas." Victor bowed grandly and deeply.

Uncle Stefan said, "The good luck skipped a generation, I suppose."

"Well," said Victor, as he straightened again. "Luck isn't for everyone."

"What about me, dear uncle? No gift from your travels? Perhaps a souvenir from Steinmauer?"

"Oh, I think we all met Victor's little souvenir from Steinmauer." Grandmother swept into the room, trailed by a maid bearing a goblet on a silver tray. Grandmother took the wine, barely inclined her head, and the maid scurried away. "Where has little Liesl run off to, Victor? I haven't seen her since dinner."

"Retired to her room. The journey here simply exhausted her, I'm afraid. She sends her regrets for the evening."

Nikolas was relieved that he wouldn't see her again. The dark haired woman who had unexpectedly accompanied Great Uncle Victor on his long awaited homecoming was beautiful, but there was something about her eyes that scared him. He'd been afraid he might have to kiss her goodnight. He remembered how she'd circled the room earlier, gliding along like a shark in a small pool. She'd curtsied elegantly before Grandmother and declared herself "a _great_ admirer." Grandmother had watched her, silently, like... like something that eats sharks.

"Hm. If she doesn't take care she may regret the entire visit."

"Now, now, Helena, that's not very nice. Think of what I've brought you. Liesl is a talented physician and a brilliant scientist, with a most _unique_ mind. She could be of great service."

"We'll see," Grandmother said.

"Wonderful," said Uncle Stefan. "Put her to work immediately. Mad science has always worked out so well for us in the past." This succeeded in exasperating Grandmother.

"Must you always speak that way in front of Nikolas? I don't know why I continue to tolerate such disrespect!"

"I wasn't aware you did tolerate it."

"If your brother was here-"

Victor clapped his hands and said with a laugh, "Ah, it's good to be home." He turned to Nikolas once again. "Your uncle is a cynic, my boy," he said. "But you must always remember: there's nothing like family."

* * *

><p>Uncle Stefan waited while Nikolas used a footstool to set the egg on its gilded stand on the center of the mantel in his room. "I want to be able to see it from anywhere," he explained.<p>

"Are you afraid something might hatch?"

He grinned at his uncle's joke, and then glanced at the egg again as he climbed into bed. "What's it for?" he asked. He hadn't wanted to ask Great Uncle Victor earlier; it had seemed impolite.

"It's for showing off one's wealth."

"Oh. Is that all?"

"That's all. That can be useful sometimes, though."

"Oh." He absorbed this.

His uncle sat in his usual chair and removed his glasses from his pocket. "Shall we have a story tonight? Would you like to read, or shall I?"

"You can. I mean... I'm getting too old for stories, I think. But you may read to me. If you want to."

Uncle nodded. "It's a privilege, your highness." Nikolas wondered how the words could sound so warm, so different from the cold way he'd spoken to Victor and Grandmother earlier.

"You shouldn't tease me." He tried to be very serious. "I don't know why I tolerate such disrespect."

That made Uncle Stefan laugh for a quite a while, and Nikolas liked that better than a hundred mysterious gifts from a hundred mysterious relatives. When he was settled under the covers, he remembered something he'd wanted to ask earlier. "What's Steinmauer? Is it a castle?"

Stefan paused before answering. "It's a sort of castle, yes. In Switzerland."

"And that's where Great Uncle Victor was? He's been there since before I was born?"

"For most of that time, yes."

"Why hasn't he ever come to visit?"

"He... couldn't get away."

"What was he doing?"

"That I do not know. You ought to ask him, I'm sure the answer would be... interesting."

Nikolas thought about this, and about something he'd almost asked Victor earlier that night. "Is Great Uncle Victor a magician?"

"A magician?" The question seemed to come as a surprise. "No. Why do you ask that?"

"I didn't _really_ think the egg was magic," Nikolas assured him. "It's just that when I was coming back from my riding lesson this afternoon, I saw Great Uncle Victor, down in that long hallway by the kitchens, you know-"

"I hope you weren't tracking your riding boots through the kitchens."

"-And I heard something. You know how it echoes down there? So I stopped, and then I saw him come around the corner, sort of, at the end of the hall. Only the place he came out of... Well, there's no door there. It's just a dead end. I even went and checked afterward. So where did he come from? He couldn't have walked out of the wall. So... I thought it was a trick, maybe. Like a magic trick."

The story drew his uncle's interest, but not in the way he had hoped. Instead of an explanation or a discussion, he was asked, "Did he see you?"

"I don't think so." Uncle Stefan nodded, and looked toward the door. "Do you believe me?"

"Yes. I'll speak to him."

"Was it a trick, though?"

"Yes, but not magic."

Before he could ask another question, his uncle picked up a book and opened it. "Not the Herodotus," Nikolas pleaded.

"All right," Stefan agreed. "Not the Herodotus. How about Homer? Where did we leave Odysseus?"

"I don't feel like Greek tonight," he said, and even though he was far too old for fairy stories, his eyes went to the red book, and he pointed. "What about that one?"

His uncle opened the book, riffled the pages until he came to an illustration, presented it to Nikolas for approval, and then began to read in Russian.

Nikolas watched the egg on the mantel while he listened.

Later, in the middle of the night, he thought he heard his uncle's voice outside his door. He sat up in the dark and strained to hear, but there was only the usual heavy quiet of the great house sleeping all around him. Then, Great Uncle Victor spoke, and Nikolas heard him very clearly. He could tell he was no longer smiling. He said, "Your warning is appreciated. What Helena doesn't know needn't hurt...any of us. You'll do well to remember that. After all, we all have our secrets...don't we, my _dear_ nephew?"

Nikolas pulled the brocaded covers over his head. When he finally fell back to sleep, he dreamed of riding a wolf across and endless field of snow, and a sorcerer's castle with a thousand hidden chambers and no doors.

* * *

><p>Somewhere close by, but far below, a red light burned inside a black box. Dimly, steadily, like an ember, it shone for a year, and then another; a decade, and then another...<p>

By then, the island was mostly deserted. After a flurry of unfortunate activity, the prince had shuttered the estate. retaining only the minimal staff and security required for maintaining it and keeping out interlopers. The empty shell of the once great house stood atop the wave beaten cliffs. No Cassadine now lived there.

Deep beneath, the red light blinked, and began to pulse.


	2. Chapter 2

Nikolas was holding a to-go cup in one hand and reaching into his coat pocket for his buzzing phone with the other, so when he opened the door of Kelly's he didn't even see the woman outside until he bumped into her.

"I beg your pardon- Robin?"

"Hi there." She smiled. "Seems like you're always surprised to see me on the other side of a door..."

He laughed, and decided to ignore his phone. "Surprised and glad. How long have you been back in town? Spencer mentioned that Emma's mom was home, but I didn't know..."

"A couple weeks. I haven't gotten out much. Been spending a lot of time with Emma and my mom."

"As you should."

"Yeah. I think they're finally getting a little tired of me, though."

"I doubt it. You've been away since, what, last winter?"

"Oh, no, seriously, Emma actually asked me if I didn't miss my _other_ friends, hint hint. So I think she's officially re-acclimated."

"Well. We missed you."

"Yeah, thanks," she said softly, then brightened as if shaking herself out of a faraway thought. "Anyway, it's good to see you!" She initiated a friendly hug, and he embraced her briefly, careful not to spill his coffee. "That's the first thing I should have said."

"It's kind of cold out here, do you want to catch up inside?"

"Oh, I don't want to keep you."

"I'm not in a hurry anywhere."

"I'm meeting Elizabeth for lunch, actually..."

"Ah," he said. "I don't want to crash the party."

"Which you would never do, you're far too polite."

"And I've been to too many crashed parties."

She laughed, and said with sympathy, "Yeah, I heard about... Well. I'm sorry about all that. I actually liked Britt."

"Yeah, so did I." He shook his head. "Don't worry about it, that's been... up and down. Currently down. I'm sure Elizabeth can fill you in."

"I'm sure we'll spend the whole lunch discussing you and your love triangles."

"No, I know, I didn't mean-"

"Nikolas, relax, I'm teasing you. Boy, you Cassadines sure can't take a joke."

He said dryly, "Oh, being a Cassadine is deadly serious business."

Robin nodded gravely, said "I know," and they both laughed.

"It really is great to see you," he said, and his own words sounded awkwardly earnest, but he continued. "I forgot how nice it was just to... I don't know... be around my friend." He had an impulse to hug her again, but she glanced away for a second, so he just said, "I'm glad you're back," and took a sip of his forgotten coffee.

"Me too." She briefly touched her hand to his wrist on the way to brush some hair away from her face.

"So... this big sabbatical. How was your work? Besides brilliant, I'm sure. Where were you exactly?"

"Central and Southern Africa," she said quickly. "CAR, Uganda... A lot of different places, actually."

"I think that's where Lucky's been, you didn't run into him by any chance?"

She shook her head, knowing he was speaking facetiously. "It's a pretty big place."

"So did it go well?"

She looked distant again for a moment, and he regretted asking. "It's complicated. It didn't exactly turn out how I'd hoped."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay. The important thing is the effort, right?"

"And that you're home now."

"Right. I'm definitely happy about that."

"And I'm sure Patrick and Emma are, too."

"Emma is. Patrick... that's also complicated. Or not, I guess divorce is a pretty simple concept."

He cringed inwardly at both his lapsed decorum and insensitivity toward his friend. "I'm so sorry. I think I probably heard about that, but it just... didn't sink in, I guess."

"It's okay, seriously, don't worry about it. It's taking a while to sink in with me, too."

"Well..." Nikolas's phone intervened by beginning to buzz again, and he looked at it while saying, "My European lawyers have been trying to reach me all morning, and I've been slacking off and ignoring them. I think it's about maritime insurance or something. I should probably take this before it gets too late over there."

"Go ahead," she gestured. "Sounds exciting."

He answered with his name, and a frantic voice began speaking French so quickly he wasn't sure he understood. He asked her to slow down, but it wasn't his strongest language. He asked Robin, "You speak French, right?" She answered, "_Oui_," and he put the attorney on speaker. He heard "_grand-mère_" and his blood chilled. Robin caught his eye, and took over the conversation. He heard something about documents being messengered to Alexis's office, a matter of urgency, and... oh no. _Un testament._

"_Un testament caché,_" Robin repeated incredulously. "_De Madame Helena Cassadine_?" The lawyer emphatically confirmed it, and seemed relieved to end the call. Robin passed his phone back, placing it directly into his hand and closing her fingers over his. "Umm... I think you should probably go see Alexis. As soon as possible. Like, _now_, probably."

"Yes," he said, stunned but shaking himself out of it. "Thank you. I'm sure this'll be... interesting."

"Let me know what's going on, okay?" She released his hand.

"Yeah, I will. You should go inside and wait for Elizabeth, it's cold out here." He turned to go, and she turned to enter Kelly's. He looked back over his shoulder, and she had paused in the doorway. "Welcome back to Port Charles."

* * *

><p>Lucky Spencer looked through the viewfinder of his DSLR, adjusted the lens, and snapped a few photos of the village. It hadn't been visible when he'd made camp last night, but this morning once the mist had cleared he'd climbed the nearest rise and caught sight of the steeple, then the town wall, tucked into the side of the valley below. He'd packed up his campsite, making sure not to leave traces, and began the day's hike. It had been two days since he'd gotten off the train and started sleeping rough. It was more picturesque up in these mountains, but it was cold, and getting colder-one more night outside would be risky, not just uncomfortable.<p>

He scanned the landscape. The village was much closer now, and he could see the road. No traffic. A few small farms in the distance on the surrounding hills, and lots of sheep. The forest was behind him. He'd seen animals the last two days-deer, foxes, wild pigs which he'd made sure to give wide clearance-but no other people. No local hunters in ATVs, no adventurous Lonely Planet types. That was exactly what he'd hoped for. This little change in itinerary had been unplanned, but he should make the village by sundown, and soon everything would be back on schedule. He wouldn't be here if he wasn't adaptable.

Now that he was in sight of the road, he thought it would be worth powering up his satphone briefly. He'd been able to make the call he'd needed to after ditching the train, but since then he must have been in a satellite blind spot. Just as well. As off the grid as possible for as long as possible was what he was after. The phone booted silently and he checked for a signal. Still nothing. No 4G, either, he saw, checking simply by routine, and then laughing to himself. It wasn't like he'd seen sheep grazing placidly around the bases of any cell towers. He shut down the phone and put it away, and picked up the camera again, swapping out the memory cards, and this time shot a wide, coffee table book panorama. Someday, he'd print all these out and send them home in poster tubes for Cam and Aiden to hang on their walls. For now, he hoped someone was sending out the stack of postcards he'd pre-written and addressed before he'd left for this trip. He pulled his gloves on, and returned the camera to his pack, checking that everything was secure before he continued on.

It was just past sunset when he reached the village. The modern road swung by and away again about a mile off, but Lucky approached from the mountain side, along an ancient dirt track leading to a gateless gap in the equally ancient stone fortification. These walled medieval towns certainly were prettier than the rusted out collections of dour Soviet-era architecture he'd seen closer to the industrial center. Prettier, more isolated, less populated. Easier to find something in, but harder to get lost in. Still, they might see an occasional hiker, an ambitious tourist, maybe even a few English-speaking ones, who liked to wander off the map every now and then. He took a deep breath and made his posture weary but relaxed, his face open and curious, and stepped through the gate like that's exactly who he was.


	3. Chapter 3

Elizabeth tossed her napkin onto her plate over the remnants of her grilled salmon brioche sandwich and glanced over at the dessert case, her eyes on that lavender-lemon cream tart.

"I still can't believe they changed the menu at Kelly's," Robin said again.

"I know," Liz said with a reflexive frown, though her initial sadness at this development had mostly worn off by now. "How was your quinoa thing?"

"Really good, actually," Robin admitted.

"Right? I mean, I'm sorry Sean went to prison, but... Do want to split a piece of pie or something?"

"Sure. It's just weird not to be able to get a turkey club or-"

"A BLT? Yeah, sometimes I think they should hire an armed guard in case Heather tries to blow up the place. At least they still do a burger."

"Is it good?"

"Grass fed."

Robin shook her head, "New managment at Kelly's, a new riverfront, the brownstone all fixed up... What else did Port Charles transform while I was away?"

"Oh, you know this town. Some things always in turmoil, some things never change." A waitress came over to refill their water, and Elizabeth ordered the tart and two forks. "Anyway, I'm so happy to finally have a chance to catch up with you like this. I've been loaded down at work lately, so I might not have noticed, but I guess you haven't been by the hospital...?"

"No. With Obrecht still around, and the chance of running into Patrick..."

"I get it, it could be awkward. So... you haven't thought about coming back at all?"

Robin scoffed. "Even if I was willing to work for her, you really think Obrecht would hire me?"

"I think the _board_ would hire you back, in a heartbeat. Nikolas would be willing to twist a few arms, I'm sure. He loves to play that 'blah blah I'm a Cassadine I have a jillion dollars' card."

"Okay, what's _that_ about?" Robin asked, amused, her eyebrows raised. "I ran into Nikolas outside before you got here, actually-he got some crazy phone call from a French lawyer about Helena's will, I don't know what that's about-"

"Her _will_? Oh, God, that could be trouble."

"I know. Hopefully it's nothing. Anyway, he seemed like he wasn't that eager to run into you. Are you guys fighting? I thought you were... you know... close?"

Liz sighed. "Yeah, no, we are, we're friends still. Again. Whatever. It's been weird. The whole last year and a half, up and down, back and forth, 'I love you', 'you love me', he's seeing someone, I'm seeing someone... the timing was never right. Like, _ever_, going back to... well. Eventually I just got so _tired_ of it, you know?"

"I hear you."

"Not just that he couldn't decide between me and Britt-which should have been my first clue to jump ship-but... I started to wonder if maybe we don't just bring out the worst in each other."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"I don't know. It's not _not_ true."

"So it's over?"

"I don't know if anything's ever _over_ over. But maybe that's my problem, you know?" Elizabeth got animated, waving her fork around as spoke. "I keep _circling_ back to these old, failed relationships. It's not just Nikolas. It was Ric, and then he died-"

Robin gaped. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry."

Liz dismissed her concern. "It's okay, he wasn't really dead. It's a long story, you can ask your mom. Anyway, then there was AJ again, after he got out of his coma. _That_ didn't work out. I think I need to just... get _off_ this merry-go-round of exes, once and for all. Even if it means being single forever." Her voice was emphatic, but her fork drooped as her resolve began to falter, and she looked to Robin for reassurance. "Right?"

"Well..." Robin went for the last piece of tart crust on the plate. "I can't tell you what to do. But it sounds like you've been honest with yourself, and thought things through really carefully, so if that's what you think is right for you right now, it probably is." Elizabeth looked relieved. "And you're _not_ going be to single forever."

"Doesn't matter." She shook her head. "I've got my job, and my boys, and my friends...that's a full life. If there's someone out there, fine. If not, well... I've been _self-reliant_ in the past."

"If I know what you mean."

"You absolutely know what I mean, right?"

"Technology is a girl's best friend."

"Sometimes!" They stifled laughter as the waitress appeared to clear the table, and Elizabeth asked for the check. "I'm sorry to dump all this stuff on you today, by the way. We barely talked about you!"

"That's fine, believe me. Not much to tell, really. Maybe we should start a 'single forever' support group."

"Stop. Are you sure there's no chance you can work things out with Patrick?"

"You'd have to ask Patrick," she said, sounding resigned and dejected. "I'm sure you talk to him more than I do these days."

"Don't give up," Elizabeth urged. She reached into her purse for her wallet, saying, "My treat, remember?" and then stopped short. "Shoot. Speaking of exes..." She held up an airmail postcard of Lake Victoria. "Lucky's been sending these to the boys, and Cam wanted to take this one to school today. I forgot it was in here."

"Do you hear much from Lucky?"

"Not much," she said, clearly irritated. "He never calls. He hasn't Skyped with them in ages. It's like he dropped off the planet."


	4. Chapter 4

Lucky found the tavern exactly where he'd been told he would. He peered through the grimy window and pretended to think about it for a minute before he pushed open the door and walked out of the clear night air into the acrid tobacco haze. He would never get used to the smell of those Russian cigarettes. The place was dreary, as expected, but he'd patronized worse establishments. He did a quick visual survey. At the far end of the bar sat a younger man with a leather jacket and a shaved head, eating and talking football in Romanian with the stocky, middle aged barman. In a shadowed back corner sat a bespectacled, bearded man, maybe 50, maybe 60, leaning over a musty looking book. With his gray hat, gray coat, and general gray appearance he almost blended into the wall, and Lucky had only noticed him on his second pass of the room. A couple old timers played cards at a table near a propane heater, and a few scattered career alcoholics-there weren't many other career prospects around here, he suspected-filled out the crowd.

He unslung his pack, sat at the bar, and asked for the local vodka, hoping he wouldn't be there long enough to have to drink very much of it. The proprietor looked at him skeptically, poured, and didn't attempt conversation. Lucky opened his pack, did a quick check of the contents, and withdrew a small amount of cash, a map, and a dogeared phrasebook. He set his camera bag down on the bar, then unfolded the map next to it, using his glass as a paperweight. Vodka splashed over the Ukrainian border. As of his last contact forty-eight hours ago, this was the place he was supposed to meet the innkeeper.

About fifteen minutes passed in which he felt the familiar sensation of being ignored while being observed. The owner came over with the bottle again, and Lucky nodded for him to pour. The man leaned over the map and put his finger down on the name of the town. "_Spasibo_," Lucky said, and the man shook his head.

"_Spasybi_," he said, pointing to one side of the border, and moved it back: "_Mulțumesc._ No Russian."

"Sorry," Lucky said. "I mean, uh..." He flipped through the phrase book to apologize, and then asked for some food. The man walked away and came back a few minutes later with some hard bread and sausages. _Now or never_, Lucky thought. He asked, in English, loud enough to be heard by the room, "Do you know where I can get a room for the night? _Hotel_?"

The barman wiped a dirty glass, shrugged, and started to give directions, motioning toward the street. Helpful, but not the response he'd been looking for. Lucky nodded, and glanced over his shoulder. No one approached; no one even looked in his direction. The old men smoked and played cards. Gray Man continued his reading.

Forty-eight hours since he'd gotten off the train. Forty-eight hours since he'd picked up a tail and, he hoped, lost it again. Forty-eight hours since his last call to control, and his last set of instructions: abort the drop, get here, find the innkeeper, lay low and wait for extraction. There were four possibilities: he was early; he was late; the innkeeper was late; something had gone wrong, and the innkeeper wasn't coming.

He folded up his map, and ate his mystery meat, thinking through his options. He motioned to the barman. "Is there anywhere I can buy a phone? Mobile?" He held his hand to the side of his face in the universal gesture. The man pulled an anvil-like rotary telephone out from under the bar and set it in front of him. "Cash," he said-always a good word to know in any language. "Right," Lucky muttered. "Just put it on my tab." There was a number he could use to check in on a land line, but he didn't want to chance it. He could wait a while longer, but his best play was probably to bed down in the local fleabag and head for the road in the morning.

Someone moved behind him-he didn't like having his back to the room-and he turned to see Gray Man standing and packing his books into a leather satchel. He retrieved a walking stick from where it rested against the wall, pulled down his hat, and started toward the door. Something about him made Lucky uneasy-maybe it was just that he couldn't get a good look at his face-and his already heightened state of alert raised further as the stranger got closer. But he passed by without acknowledgment, looking past Lucky to exchange a nod with the owner, who said, "_Bună seara, profesor_," as he left. Lucky watched him cross the street and turn out of view, but his uneasiness lingered. It momentarily left his guard down, and he chastised himself for being unprepared when Leather Jacket approached him from the other end of the bar.

"That's a nice camera. Nikon? I like Nikon." He had thick arms, and a heavy onyx ring on the fourth finger of his right hand.

"Yeah, it's good." Great. So he was stranded, no drop, no safe house, and now he had to worry about maybe getting jumped for his camera. He put his hand on the strap. "Taking some pictures for the folks back home."

"This is beautiful country."

"Sure is."

"You're journalist?"

"Nah, man. I'm just, you know, traveling around. Started off in Istanbul and I'm just...heading east until I feel like stopping. Thinking of starting a blog, though. What's the Romanian word for 'blog'?"

The man smiled without showing his teeth. "_Blog_."

Lucky laughed. "Right."

"Run into any trouble?"

He thought of backtracking through alleyways, hiding in a tractor cab, jumping off a moving train... "None I couldn't handle." The longer the chit chat played out, the more information he could gather, and the longer he had to think over his next move. "You from around here?"

"Just passing through. I have business. That's why I have such English."

"Way better than my Romanian, man." He grinned as he held up his phrasebook and put it away. "Or my Russian. So, uh, what do you do? For your business?"

"I'm like a postman."

"Like DHL?"

"A little like that." His ring made a _click, click, click_ against the bar. "Nice weather today. Wasn't so nice a few days ago, but today... good weather. You get good pictures?"

That brought things into focus. A fifth possibilty emerged: this _was_ the drop. He'd been out of contact for two days, and in the meantime they must have confirmed that he was clear and rescheduled it. "Yeah," he said, suddenly feeling more confident than he had since he'd walked in. "I'm no professional, but I think I got some good shots." He unzipped the case, turned on the display, and handed the camera over to Leather Jacket, who made vaguely approving noises as he paged through the souvenir photos that conveniently doubled as Lucky's legend. The barman came over to look for a minute, and then wandered away. Lucky laid out some cash on the bar and hoisted his pack up onto the stool next to him, preparing to go."What do you think?"

He smiled that tight-lipped smile again. "Make a very nice blog."He passed the camera back, and Lucky laughed again as he nestled it into its case. His fingers slipped into an interior pocket and easily found what they were looking for. He shrugged the pack onto his shoulders and said, "I should find that hotel. I've been walking all day." He held out his hand. "Good talking to you, man."

Leather Jacket accepted the handshake and the palmed memory card with a friendly nod, and Lucky left the tavern. He exhaled sharply, looked around, and set off in search of a bed for the night.

Across the cobbled street, someone was watching.


	5. Chapter 5

When Nikolas arrived at Alexis Davis' new law office in the Metro Court building, his aunt was already waiting for him. She held up a large, official looking envelope. "This arrived just after you called. By special courier. Directly from your overseas representation, as far as we can tell, but I'm having the security tapes analyzed just in case." She put it down on the desk and walked over to him, giving him a quick hug.

"Did you open it?"

She shook her head. "Honestly? I'm a little afraid to. I'm wondering if we should call a hazmat team, just in case. With Helena involved, who knows, it could be full of polonium. Or anthrax..."

He stopped her before she could continue listing doomsday scenarios. "Or it could just be papers."

"That's almost scarier. Did you know she even had a will? I would have assumed she thought her contract with Satan made her immortal."

"There was nothing that I ever heard about, but we weren't exactly on the best terms when Luke shot her for kidnapping my sister. I wasn't expecting her to leave me the family silver."

"I thought you already owned the family silver. And the silver _mines_..."

He took off his coat and sat down. Alexis leaned on the desk, and they both stared at the envelope. "I suppose we should get it over with," she said. She hesitated a moment, then went over to where her coat was hanging and took her leather gloves out of the pocket. "Just in case..." She picked up the envelope and slowly began to unseal one corner, then stopped. "Do you think we should have it X-rayed?"

"Alexis."

"Fine." She tore it open, closing her eyes tightly. When no shrapnel or deadly fumes followed, she peeked inside, and then gingerly reached in to withdraw a thin stack of papers. There was something rattling around in the bottom of the envelope, and she tipped what looked like a little gold bar into her hand. Alexis held the flash drive up by its USB stick and shook her head. "Grandiose to the end," she said. "This thing's probably 24 karat." She looked at him hopefully. "Maybe we should melt it down now and not even worry about what's on it."

"That's tempting. But I'd rather know now than be taken by surprise by something in the future."

"Good point."

Nikolas picked up the papers and shuffled through them while Alexis swiveled her laptop and extra monitor around to face the guest chairs. "Anything in there?" she asked.

"Looks like just the provenance. Lawyers' signatures. A copy of her official death declaration. It took a while for that to make its way through the courts, maybe that explains why this is only coming up now."

"Maybe they wanted to wait long enough to make sure she wasn't coming back." Alexis had removed her gloves, but she still hovered over the laptop with the drive in her hand.

"You might want to disconnect from your network," he suggested.

"You're right. A virus would be in character." She unplugged everything she could, switched off the wifi, and resigned herself to throwing the laptop into a dumpster when this was over. Alexis held her breath, and inserted the drive.

"Well, nothing exploded," said Nikolas.

"Yet." Alexis took a seat next to him and leaned forward to use the trackpad. The new folder opened as normal. "Looks like a series of PDFs..." She turned to look at him. "And a video file."

He put his hand over his face for a second, sighed, and then shrugged. What else could they do? "Just play it."

"Here we go..." Alexis muttered. The player opened on the external monitor, and his grandmother's visage eclipsed the desktop.

"_Hello, Nikolas."_ She smiled her familiar knife-like smile.

"I guess I don't get a hello."

"_If you're viewing this, it seems the inevitable has finally caught up with me. May I confess something? I always wanted to be the last one standing. But I suppose it hasn't worked out that way. Whether by illness or misadventure, the end has come. I do hope it was misadventure._"

"The lighting is great in this," remarked Alexis. "Do you think she had this shot professionally? I can't picture a henchman pointing an iPhone at her." Nikolas just looked at her. "Sorry."

"_...So I suppose I must make provisions for my family. Everything I've ever done has been for the family, you know. For our name..." _

"You mean Mikkos' name," Alexis piped in. "You married in, you golddigger."

"_...To preserve our noble legacy. I know you want the same. If we've conflicted in the past, it was only because we disagreed on how best to do so. It was never personal. I always was... fond of you, after all."_

"Warms your heart, right?"

"_However..."_

Nikolas sank a little lower in his chair.

"_As time goes on, I see more and more clearly that I can't let sentiment stand in the way of what must be done."_

"Uh oh..."

"_By now, my first born son, my beloved Stavros, will have a new heir. God knows I question his choice of incubator, but I can deny him nothing."_ The affection in her voice was greasy.

"Good God, she really thought that cockamamie plan was going to work," Alexis marveled. "Nope. Too bad, so sad," she told the screen.

"_And even if, by some chance, this fails to come to pass... The conclusion I've reached remains the same. It's inescapable, really. You're a good boy, Nikolas. But you're a terrible prince."_

Frustrated, Nikolas stood. "What? What is this, my employee evaluation? Why doesn't she just _get to the point_?" He shouted the last at her image. Alexis reversed the video a few seconds to hear what they'd missed.

"_...So I'm afraid I simply can no longer have you occupying that position." _And she paused, for dramatic effect.

Nikolas asked quietly, "What the hell?"

"It's meaningless," Alexis was quick to reassure him. "It's all lunatic bluster. She has no power to disinherit you."

"_I'm sure you probably thought I had arranged for Stavros and Lulu's offspring as a sort of backup plan. But that's not exactly accurate. Because that's you, dear boy._

"_You were always the backup plan."_


	6. Chapter 6

Lucky took a path through the wider and busier-looking streets, avoiding blind corners and dark alleys where he could, until he came to the high stone wall at the perimeter of the little town. It was night now, and the streetlamps were dim and intermittent. Traffic was thin: a couple motorbikes passed him, and an old woman pushed her market trolley toward home. He spotted the sign for the dingy little hotel a few blocks down, but between him and it were too many unlit doorways, so he continued along the wall instead of crossing to that side of the road just yet. Up ahead the wall curved and was interrupted by a gap that as he approached he saw was a staircase. He slowed, considering his options. If he was oriented correctly, the stairs probably led down into valley, and from there he could find the road. Would taking his chances with hitchhiking be riskier than holing up for the night? He didn't know why he still felt so edgy-the op had had a few bumps, but seemed to have concluded smoothly-but he'd learned from an early age to rely on his instincts. The sooner he could get back in contact with control, the better. He looked down the stairs and didn't see anyone. There was no reason not to check the satphone again right now...

He had slid free from one shoulder strap of his pack when he heard footsteps. Across the street, a large figure appeared out of the shadows. He tensed, but then he recognized Leather Jacket, his contact, coming toward him. "Hey, man," he said lightly, mindful of his cover. "Did I forget something?" He might have instructions, or a message; even a little information he wanted to sell. It had been known to happen. "What's up?" Lucky tried one more time, but the other man didn't stop, didn't reply, didn't even nod. His pace quickened, and he kept coming. His hand reached into his pocket as he closed the distance.

"Oh, _shit._" Lucky backed up, but it was too late to run. He pulled off his pack and swung it into the other man with as much force as he could. His attacker stumbled back a few steps, and Lucky went low and dove for his legs, knocking him to the ground. The gun clattered off across the cobblestones, out of reach. The man's left arm landed awkwardly behind his back, and Lucky drove his knee into his opponent's right wrist, using all his weight and the other man's pain to keep him pinned. Still, they struggled. The bald man had a considerable size and weight advantage. Lucky thought about going for the knife in his boot, but he needed both arms to hold the guy down. He pushed his forearm against Leather Jacket's throat and forced his head into the pavement. "Who are you?" he demanded. "FSB? ISI? Freelance?" The man wheezed and looked like he was trying to speak. He stopped struggling. Lucky let up the pressure just a little. The man took a breath, and then spit in his face. Before Lucky could react, his assailant jerked his body with all his momentum, and then they were falling down the stairs to the first landing.

Lucky was on his back, disoriented. His head pointed downhill. He kicked his legs, hoping gravity would help him throw the guy off him, but he was too heavy. The man grabbed him by his hair and slammed his head on the stone. The pain swallowed his vision, and he felt himself being dragged and pushed up against the wall. Leather Jacket's forearm pressed on his chest.

The fog cleared just as his killer's right hand covered his face. He felt the cold metal of the onyx ring making a dent on the side of his nose. Lucky's right hand twitched, still thinking of the knife, but his boot was far out of reach. He thought he glimpsed the moon through the man's fingers. He thought of his parents, and his boys. He wanted to go home. A shadow fell across him.

* * *

><p>Alexis was confused. "What is she talking about? Do you have any idea what she's talking about?"<p>

"No," Nikolas said, but he was getting a sick feeling that maybe he might. He sat down slowly, unable to look way from his grandmother's viperous smirk as she went on, savoring her monologue.

"_And so I find it's time to unburden myself. You see, some years ago, I...told a little fib, regarding your infancy. What's the saying? 'What did I know, and when did I know it?' The deception suited my purposes at the time, but some lies eventually outlive their usefulness. If you're watching this, I suppose sometimes they outlive the liars as well. You must understand, though, I couldn't have anyone thinking they'd gotten the better of me... least of all those two."_

"No," said Nikolas softly, shaking his head. "She's... This is a lie. She's lying _now_."

"_And I'd gotten so _attached _to you over the years, despite your... inherent weaknesses. I'd always blamed your mother for that. Nature versus nurture. It's very tricky, isn't it?"_

Nikolas swallowed hard. Beside him, Alexis had put on her reading glasses and begun to examine the electronic documents that accompanied Helena's final curtain call. "It's affidavits, and... a press release..." He heard her quiet gasp. "Oh, God. Nikolas. Did you know...?" He found he couldn't answer.

"_Ultimately, it's my own failure. I'm not too proud to admit it. I tried to teach you strength; to build you up to be worthy of the title. I gave you my Stavros, a role model to aspire to. But in the end...nature will out. My best efforts couldn't overcome your feeble DNA. So, now I must rectify that error. And I'm afraid I must do it publicly."_

"I don't believe it," he said. "It's not true; I don't believe it. She knew there'd no way to prove-"

"_I hoped for so long, but I'm afraid you're no prince after all: just another lesser nobleman left to fight for the scraps. Even if this scatters the family fortunes to the four winds, so be it."_

He squeezed his eyes shut, and barely felt his aunt's hand on his arm. All this time... the things that might have been different...

Helena's final pronouncement fell like an icy shard.

"_I would rather see the Cassadine line extinguished than left to the bastard child of a second son."_

* * *

><p>There was a sharp <em>crack<em>, and Lucky felt a dead weight collapse on top of him. He sucked in air and blinked, trying come back around to alertness as quickly as possible. Leather Jacket was slumped across his lap, the back of his shaved skull bloodied. Lucky shoved the body off and it rolled further down the stairway into the dark. He squinted up into the light, and a silhouetted figure stood above him, calmly wiping the blood from his walking stick with a handkerchief. He put the handkerchief into the pocket of his gray overcoat. Lucky scrambled to his feet and climbed unsteadily up the stairs, toward his pack. Gray Man followed him, slowly.

"Hey, man, thank you, I mean, uh, _mulțumesc_, sorry, my Romanian's not too good." Lucky knelt down and opened his pack. "Didn't expect to be mugged tonight." He went right for the hidden compartment in the lining, just in case. He'd learned his lesson about letting down his guard. "I don't have much, but I can give you something…" he offered, appearing to search for cash while his hand closed on his weapon.

"That won't be necessary."

Lucky froze at the sound of the voice. He was still out of it, he must be. He thought back to the tavern. The solitary, bearded man had set him on edge for some reason. Maybe because he seemed familiar... Lucky's grip on his pistol tightened.

"But I have a room if you can pay."

Lucky stood slowly upon hearing the code phrase, raising his gun. "_What?_" Finally, he got a good look at the stranger's face, and he was sure.

"We should leave here now, Agent Spencer. A drunk who fell down the stairs won't arouse much suspicion, but it's best not to take chances, don't you think? Everyone in the tavern saw your face."

"_You're_ the innkeeper?"

"I have a room-"

"_Don't-_! Stop _saying_ that. Shut up, and don't move."

The other man nodded. "I'm unarmed."

"I don't care." He felt his hand begin to shake.

Stefan Cassadine turned away and started to descend the stairs. "It's a long walk. While you're deciding whether to shoot me, I suggest we be on our way."


	7. Chapter 7

NOTE: I hope no one minds if, for the purposes of this story and its AU, Nathan West is just not even a thing.

-AG

* * *

><p>Nikolas stared down at a copy of Helena's poisonous press release, which according to her instructions was scheduled to go out "on the date immediately following the execution of this will." Tomorrow morning, the ticking clock on her little time bomb would finally stop, and his life would likely explode. His eyes fixed on the word "illegitimate", as if his there was anything <em>legitimate<em> about his mother's perverse "marriage" to Stavros in the first place.

"I know you're upset..." Alexis began tentatively.

"Oh, do you _think_?" he barked, and then apologized for raising his voice. "I'm angry at Helena, not you."

"That's perfectly fine, you have every right to be furious right now. Here." She handed him a heavy glass vase from the windowsill. "This is leftover from when this was Sonny's office. I will fully support you if you want to smash it. Just tell me when to duck."

He hefted it for a second, and then put it down, laughing helplessly, his bubble of blind rage punctured. What was the point? "What happens now?"

"Well..." she started, "before we get practical... are you sure you don't want to... react to this news a little bit? I'm here to listen."

He shook his head, determined not to be led down his grandmother's path of emotional manipulation. "No. There's nothing to say. She's lying. Helena's a... was a sadist. She wanted to hurt me. I'm not going to let her get to me that way."

"But... it _could_ be true? I mean, you thought it was once..."

"Yes, my uncle thought so most of my life, because she _wanted _him to. Until she didn't. Falsifying paternity tests isn't exactly outside of her portfolio, you know. In fact it's one of her go-to moves."

Alexis pressed on gently. "Right, but..." She shuffled through the stack of PDFs she had printed out and held out a notarized affidavit. "What about this statement from this woman who worked at Wyndemere who said she was a spy for Helena, this..." she scanned it again, "...Cecile Martin, do you remember her?"

"Vaguely. But so what? Grandmother could get anyone to say anything with enough money or threats."

"But she _could_ have potentially overheard something, and reported it back to Helena?"

His frustration was building, and he had second thoughts about not smashing that vase. "Alexis, it doesn't matter! It can't- It can't matter now. They're both dead. There aren't any DNA samples lying around that I know about-I had Stavros cremated. So there's no way to prove it either way."

"But she didn't know that Stavros would be dead again when all this came out, right? That's what I don't get."

"I assume the plan was to let me go through the wringer for a while, and then he would have conveniently resurfaced to debunk her story. Probably just as I was about to lose everything. Maybe... maybe give me enough time to get used to the idea." Even just saying that opened a sliver of a space inside him to let the thought in, and he fought to close it. "The point wasn't to 'unburden' herself..." He struggled for a moment to nail down his grandmother's base motives. "The point was to teach me a lesson. She was angry because she thought I chose the Spencers. So this is like a test. To prove I'm worthy, I have to deny all this," he gestured at the papers. "To the press, to the courts..."

He pushed away a hard memory, and said, "I have to _choose_ Stavros. Again. That's my punishment."

"That is..." Alexis took a deep breath. "Incredibly cruel."

"Believe me, she wouldn't have done this if she thought there was anything about it that might make me happy."

"Would it? Make you happy?"

"Oh, you mean, would I prefer my father be the man who went crazy and tried to kill Emily, among other things, instead of the one who abducted my sister and tried to have me assassinated? I don't know, Alexis, that's a tough one."

"All right. That's a fair rhetorical point. But if you do want to talk..."

He sat down again and rubbed his forehead. This was not how he had expected his day to go. "It doesn't matter," he insisted. "I decided that a long time ago. This doesn't change anything."

"Well," she said. "Except for..."

"Except that I'm about to get sued for everything I have by every living Cassadine, aren't I?"

"It's very likely. Who has the strongest claim? Pardon me if I'm not up on the rules of the peerage and all that."

"I guess it's Victor. As Mikkos' brother, he'd be the next in line. I've known him since I was a boy, though. We're not close, but..."

"Would he back you? That could help."

"I don't know. He dropped into town out of the blue last year, but I haven't heard from him since. I don't even know how to get in touch with him."

"Okay, well, I'll look into that. And we should start making a list of everyone who might want a piece of the pie."

Nikolas tried to remember all the far-flung family members his uncle had once seen as a threat to his position. "There's cousin Mikhail, but he's in a monastery, I don't think he'd be interested. There's a branch in the Baltics. Then there are the Belgian Cassadines... they're kind of..."

"Eurotrash? What about my mysterious half-brother whatshisname? Valentin?"

"Died in a snowmobile accident in the Alps last year. Hit a tree, I think."

"Huh. So much for him."

"Alexis, what about you?"

"What?" she laughed.

"You're Mikkos' only living child-"

"That we know of. I wouldn't be surprised if a few more popped up now."

"You and your daughters should have as much of a stake in this as any fourth cousin in Antwerp."

"I appreciate the thought, but no. God, no. No thank you. And I think I speak for all the Davis girls on that. I'm not interested in the job, but I'm happy to help you keep it if I can. ...If that's what you want."

"What do you mean?"

"Well... maybe you could look at this as an opportunity. Like an escape hatch. A chance for a fresh start." He couldn't quite make sense of her suggestion. It never would have occurred to him. She patted his arm. "All right, maybe put a pin it that." She took the press release from his hand. "I assume you have someone on retainer for PR who can handle this?"

He nodded, standing up and reaching for his coat. "I'll contact the firm as soon as possible. This is going to be a nightmare, isn't it?"

"You never know. You might be overestimating the public's interest in you as a gossip topic. But keep in mind, I'm very busy now, so don't go adding to my caseload by punching any paparazzi."

"I'll try to control myself." Beginning to feel overwhelmed, he asked, "Is there anything else for now?"

Alexis thought about it, and then said, "If anything comes up, I'll call you. And I'll check in with you once this goes public. Remember: as of right now, nothing changes. This is going to be a long process."

"Yeah," he acknowledged. "Nothing changes." He let his aunt give him another hug before he left, but resisted accepting comfort in it or even conceding any was necessary. "Right now I just want to get home and figure out how I'm going to explain all this to Spencer."

"I'll let you go. Can I ask you a question, though? Why do you still live all the way out there on that island? It's so isolated. Wyndemere's a bit of a white elephant, but I'm sure you could sell it to someone. Supervillain Craigslist, maybe..."

He laughed. He'd never thought about that, either. "Easier to brood out there, I guess. Anyway, it's a good thing I held onto it. When this is over, it could be all I have left."


	8. Chapter 8

The forest was quiet, but it felt less peaceful, more threatening now than it had either of the past two nights. Lucky held a flashlight under one arm, but the moon was almost bright enough that they didn't need it. In the same hand, he carried the walking stick he had taken from Cassadine when he'd searched him. In the other, the gun, pointed at the back of his head.

On the stairs out of town, Stefan had waited calmly while Lucky crouched by the body of the unknown agent who had intercepted him. He patted it down with his free hand, searching for any ID. There was none, but he'd found the memory card inside the leather jacket. He'd also taken the ugly onyx ring, on the chance that it might be distinctive enough to help identify him. Finally, he'd positioned the body as best he could to mimic a fall, wishing there was more time to either conceal it or better stage the scene.

"He's dead," Lucky had confirmed. It had come out like an accusation.

"And you're not," Cassadine had replied.

Lucky had stood, and met the other man's gaze. Neither had flinched. "I guess that makes two of us."

It _was_ a long walk, ten kilometers or so further down the valley and then back into the wooded hills. There wasn't much conversation. Lucky didn't want to be following this man anywhere, but it wasn't like he had much of a choice. Whether this was an insane coincidence, or something more, right now he was depending on Stefan Cassadine, his brother's uncle, his father's enemy, last seen a dozen years ago in Port Charles, New York, to lead him to a WSB safehouse in the boonies of Eastern Europe. The most he could hope is that he'd make it on his feet to wherever they were headed, and he'd try to figure it out then. And if it was a trap...? Lucky's finger slid off the trigger guard. He heard his father's voice, _Do it now, Cowboy._

"Just ahead," said Cassadine. Dry leaves and undergrowth crunching under their feet gave way to a soft dirt trail, and then a clearing. Good place for an ambush, Lucky thought, but when he shone his light ahead all he saw was what looked like a darkened farmhouse. As they got closer, he realized what he'd thought was a stone barn was actually the burned out hulk of an old church, and the mostly intact building slouched alongside it must have been the rectory. He insisted on a perimeter check, and they circled the clearing before he finally allowed Cassadine to step onto the creaking porch and unlock the door.

Lucky tossed the walking stick out of reach. "Stop," he ordered as the door swung slowly inward.

Stefan retreated a step and gestured into the dark, "After you."

Lucky entered and found himself in the kitchen. He did a quick recon of the first floor, and returned to find Cassadine lighting a gas lantern. The room was shabby but neat, furnished with an old church pew along one wall, one chair, and a table in the center that was covered with books. He ignored the fact that Lucky's weapon was still drawn on him as he hung his coat and hat on hooks beside the door and set his leather satchel on the table. Lucky watched him light a wood stove and draw water from a pump style spigot to fill a copper coffee pot, then sit on the bench to wait, all without a word.

Lucky had a hell of a headache, and knew that he would for a while. He also knew that he'd better not go to sleep anytime soon, just in case. He didn't even realize how exhausted he was or how heavy his pack had gotten until he smelled the coffee begin to boil, and then it was all he could do to take the pack off, lean it against the wall, and sit down in the single wooden chair before he collapsed into it. He set his gun atop the open pages of the nearest book, something leather bound and Latin. "You religious now?" he asked sardonically.

"It's Seneca." He stood, and Lucky jerked toward the table. "The coffee," Cassadine explained. He poured two cups, and placed one on the table without coming too close. "You'll want to stay awake for a while. You may have a concussion."

"Right, and you wouldn't want anything to happen to me."

"It would be rather inconvenient at this point." He sipped his coffee, and Lucky finally reached for his own. It was bitter and so strong that he winced, but he drained half the cup. He put it down again to find Cassadine appraising him. A moment later he asked Lucky, "What do you think happened tonight?"

"You tell me."

"I waited for you to leave the tavern, followed, found you in distress, and... offered my assistance."

"Why?" Why reveal himself, when he could have left Lucky for dead and melted back into the shadows.

"A sense of obligation, I suppose."

Lucky wondered what kind of obligation Stefan Cassadine could feel that was stronger than self-preservation. "_You're_ WSB?"

He shook his head. "No. But you are, apparently. I merely perform an occasional service, as a temporary host for travelers like yourself."

"How did you know I was coming?"

"I didn't. I was only told to prepare for a guest, and directed where to meet him. Imagine my surprise, Mr. Spencer, when you walked in and announced yourself."

"Yeah, I think I can imagine."

"I thought it better to leave discreetly rather than cause a scene. Did you know the man who attacked you?"

"I thought he was my contact. It seemed like the innkeeper wasn't going to show, so I assumed the plan had changed. Did you know him?"

Cassadine shook his head. "I've never seen him before."

"Why did the bartender call you 'profesor'?"

"I used to teach in the village school," he said, and it seemed so absurd to Lucky he nearly laughed trying to picture it. "I'm retired from that, now, too."

"Oh, is that what this is? Your retirement villa?" He looked around at the worn floorboards and crumbling plaster. "Kind of cozy, I guess. Nicer than Pentonville, which is where you ought to be. How'd you end up in such a sweet set up, anyway?" He leaned forward over the volume of Seneca. "You know, instead of at the bottom of PC harbor."

Cassadine almost smiled, stood slowly, and picked up the lantern. In the light, Lucky could see the faded scars partially covered by his sandy beard. "Perhaps that's a story for tomorrow... presuming you choose not to kill me. There's a radio upstairs. In the morning you can use it to contact whomever you wish. Pass the night wherever you like."

Lucky scrambled to his feet as he approached, and secured the pistol at his side, muzzle pointed to the floor. Stefan passed without another word and faded into the dark house.


	9. Chapter 9

It had already been a typically hectic morning for a single mom of two boys even before Elizabeth had make the mistake of checking Facebook on her way to work and seen the news. Everyone had a comment, including an irritating "OMG I KNEW IT" from Sarah which she almost took her to task over in a private message but ultimately decided it was best to ignore. She had tried to call Nikolas three times and left one awkward voicemail as she'd parked her car in the GH garage. By the time she stepped off the elevator at the fourth floor nurses' station she was running late, again, but she almost turned around and got right back on when she saw Felix was already waiting for her, ready to pounce. She shoved her coat, scarf and tote bag under the desk as he demanded, "Finally! Give me the inside line on the house of Cassadine, Liz, Port Charles' royal watchers need to know."

"I don't know anymore than you do, Felix." She began sorting through a stack of charts. "Just that it's royally screwed up."

"Don't tell me possibly-not-a-Prince Nikolas' 'no comment' extends to you, too."

"It was a crazy morning, I haven't been able to talk to him yet. But yeah, I found out the same way everybody else did."

"Ouch."

"No, it's perfectly understandable, I'm sure he's got a lot to deal with right now. There's no reason for me to be his first call."

"So it's come to that, huh?"

She sighed. "Pretty much." Elizabeth looked around to make sure they didn't have an audience, and then confided, "I am worried about him, though."

"So it's true? It's like finding out Diana-rest her soul-had a fling with Andrew."

She frowned in disapproval. "Not really."

"Yeah, I couldn't think of a better analogy. ...Is it true, though?"

"I don't know. Maybe not. It's probably just Helena making trouble."

"Tell me about this Stefan, at least. Seems like he was kind of a big deal around here for a while. Did you know him?"

"Barely. He raised Nikolas. They were close before...well."

"Yeah, he went cray. I googled. What about that Katherine Bell, did you know her? She sounds like a trip. Oh, what about Damian Smith?" Before she could respond, he said, "Heads up, Her Britchness at twelve o'clock."

Britt Westbourne came around the corner and stalked by them without acknowledgment. Elizabeth barely looked up from her charts to say, "No cell phones on the floor, Britt." Britt wrinkled her nose and then paced by again as she continued her call.

"Um. It's me again. Just wanted to let you know, I'm here, if there's anything I can do, anything you or Spencer might need..."

Elizabeth looked up.

"Anyway, you don't have to call me back, but I'm here if you want to talk. I know you must be devastated." Elizabeth rolled her eyes and snorted, and Britt ended her voicemail with a halting, "Okay. Um. Bye." She slipped her phone into her lab coat's pocket and crossed her arms. "Is there a problem, Elizabeth?"

"'Devastated' is a little strong, don't you think?"

"Uh, to have his whole life turned upside down? I don't think so."

"Look, I know you think you know Nikolas on some deep level because you bonded over being descended from lunatics, but this just proves that you really don't know him at all. He loved his uncle. If this is true, it'll be hard, yes, but it could actually turn out to be a good thing. So I don't think he'll be needing the 'moral support' you're so eager to provide."

Felix was supposed to have started his rounds by now, but instead he hovered in the background, observing.

"What business is it of yours, anyway?" Britt challenged. "I thought you'd officially taken yourself out of the game. You chose you or something like that, right?"

Now Elizabeth's arms were crossed. "Just the fact that you call it a game? Makes me sad for you. You're right, though. It's none of my business that you've attached yourself like a lamprey to the first man who was ever nice to you." She thought she saw Britt flinch at that, just slightly, and felt the rush of satisfaction from scoring a point. To be honest, it felt a little gross. "Anyway, I'm done fighting with you over Nikolas. It's degrading."

"Are you kidding? You started this."

"Technically it started as fighting about, not over, him," Felix pointed out.

"Thank you, Felix," said Liz.

"There's no way this conversation passes the Bechdel Test, though."

Elizabeth gave him a quizzical look, and Britt just ignored him. "You're really so jealous of our relationship that you'd resent me trying to be there for my friend."

"Yeah, I know how you want to _be there_ for your _friend_. Aren't you currently dumped, though? To use this to weasel your way back in..." She loaded down her voice with faux pity. "Frankly, it's pathetic."

Britt smirked and leaned over the desk. "Is it as pathetic as cloaking yourself in some kind of righteous spinsterhood because you can't even admit that you _lost_?"

"Oh, first off, I didn't _lose_-"

"Sure."

"Second, you know even less about me than you do about Nikolas."

"Oh, I'm so sick of that. Maybe I wouldn't pass a Port Charles pop quiz, but I've actually, you know, had a life in the outside world. You invoke this deep history like it's supposed to mean something. All it means is that you're in the same spot you planted yourself as a teenager. Speaking of pathetic." Elizabeth's jaw clenched. Britt could tell she'd gotten a hit, so she fired again. "I don't need a calendar that goes back to nineteen ninety whatever. Nikolas and I have a deeper connection."

That overshot the target, and Elizabeth laughed. "Please. That's what you think a 'deep connection' is? It honestly is kind of sad, the way you cling to this romanticized idea of him, and your relationship. Nikolas isn't your prince charming. In fact, if you really knew him, you'd know he can actually be kind of a-"

With a _thwack!_ a newspaper landed on the nurses' station desk. It was the _Port Charles Press_, and it was the first time Elizabeth had seen a copy of the print edition, the cover of which featured a full page photo of Nikolas and a one word headline: BASTARD. Obrecht loomed over it.

"Later," said Felix as he backed away from the nurses' station. "I've got rounds." Elizabeth heard him mutter, "It's like she can transform herself into a mist or something..." She wished she had rounds.

"Nurse Webber is right, Britta," declared Obrecht. "Nikolas Cassadine isn't for you." She waved her hand at the front page. "You really dodged the bullet on this one." A gleam came into her eye. "Which is more than Nurse Webber is capable of." She grinned at Elizabeth. "Do you get it? It's a reference to how I shot you."

Even Britt thought that crossed a line. "Mother, please..."

Liz turned to her computer, refusing to engage on Obrecht's terms. "Interesting that someone who was willing to steal a baby is getting hung up on genealogical technicalities."

"Y chromosomes are one thing, but such a loss of status? More importantly, to lose the respect of a great woman like Helena Cassadine?"

"That's right, I forgot you were a fangirl."

"I don't know, getting thrown under the bus by Helena sounds like an endorsement to me." In her mother's presence, Britt's voice seemed drained of its brashness.

"Nonsense. And if he truly decides this is a 'good thing'-" she sneered and made air quotes.

Elizabeth did turn her head at this. "How long have you been listening?" She hadn't seen her anywhere. Maybe Felix was right.

"Long enough to know you were eight minutes late, and dock your pay accordingly."

"I'd be caught up on my work right now if you and your daughter weren't distracting me."

"Let's go to my office." Britt had stepped back from the desk and was hovering several feet away, in search of an escape route.

"Fine. This one isn't amusing anymore." She put her nails down, claw-like, onto the paper and pushed it across the desk at Elizabeth. "Here. You can keep this. We're finished with it."


	10. Chapter 10

(NOTE: Eventually I'll probably append this scene to the previous chapter, but I didn't want anyone following along to miss it. And if you are following along, thanks! -AG)

* * *

><p>Alexis blew past Julian's receptionist-who was so used to it she didn't even look up-and barged into his office. She held up a copy of the day's <em>Press<em>. "What the _hell_ is this?"

He stood up and walked around to the front of his desk, saying, "_That_ is our best selling edition in months."

"It's pure tabloid trash. Is this what you call going legit?"

"I promised you I'd go straight, Alexis, not that I'd turn into Ben Bradlee."

She rolled up the newspaper and smacked it into his chest. "Unbelievable."

"It's just business." He grasped her elbow and leaned in to kiss her cheek, which she allowed. "Nothing personal."

"My family is personal to me, Julian." She didn't move away, but she kept the paper between them as a barrier.

"Oh, come on. You don't give a damn about the Cassadines."

"I give a damn about the only one of them that's any good, and that's my nephew."

Julian couldn't help rolling his eyes. "He's not _that_ good..." He leaned back on his desk and crossed his arms while she protested.

"You couldn't have run this by me first?"

"That wouldn't exactly be ethical, would it?"

"Oh, please, like you give a damn about journalistic ethics." She tapped him with the paper again, and he took it from her and dropped it onto the desk.

"I'll have my reporter call you for a quote next time."

"I'd give you a quote, all right."

He grinned. "Yeah, I bet you would."

"You'll be lucky if we don't sue for libel. You couldn't have at least put a question mark on that odious headline?"

"My legal department suggested it, but I thought it would ruin the impact, so I had layout do those single quotation marks instead. I think that covers us. Or we could always say it was a figure of speech..."

"_Defamation_ and libel."

"Only if it's not true. Is it, by the way?"

"Are you asking as a 'journalist'?"

"Let's say I'm asking as a supportive and interested partner." She scrutinized him. "Off the record," he added.

"It's Helena," Alexis vented. "Who the hell knows if it's true. It's a major pain in my ass, I know that much." She prodded his shoulder. "And so far you're not helping."

"Personally, I'm always here for you, Alexis. Professionally..." He shrugged, as if helpless against the irresistible tide of the news cycle.

"Well, personally... it sucks. I feel terrible for Nikolas. All this stuff dredged up..."

He rubbed her arms to comfort her. "So... _if_ Nikolas is de-throned, so to speak... what does that mean for you? Or Sam? Do you get a chunk of the Cassadine action?"

"I don't _want_ a chunk of it. I don't want the tiniest _sliver_. And I'm sure Sam doesn't either."

He nodded, affirming her principled stand. Then he said, "From what you've told me about Helena... she would really hate it if you did, though, right?" He saw a brief glint in her eye. "Just something to think about."

Alexis shook her head, dismissing the idea again. "You know what? If she's motivating me by revenge, she's winning. No, I'd rather think about Helena as little as possible."

"What about your half-brother Stefan? What was he like?"

She grew still, and let out a soft sigh. "Are we still off the record?"

"Can I use it on deep background?" he asked. "The website's doing an explainer." She reacted with a disgusted groan, and he attempted to assuage her with, "Okay, okay. We'll just rely on our other sources."

"Oh, no, like who? Bobbie wouldn't talk to you, would she?"

"A, you know I can't tell you that."

"Right, because of your ethics."

"And B... a lot of people lived in Port Charles in the nineties, Alexis, and some of them will want to talk." He spread his arms in a 'what can I do?' gesture. "You can't stop the First Amendment."

"Julian." She inched closer to him and brushed her hand over his shirt. "I've changed my mind. I'd like you to go back to organized crime."

"Too late."

"But print is dying."

"Then it's a good thing we're about to launch three new web verticals." He put his arms around her waist and said, "So why don't you tell me about Stefan? Not for publication. It might make you feel better. And maybe it'll inform my editorial position."

She smirked at him as if she knew all about his editorial position, but then her expression turned rueful. "My brother... was a Cassadine. He was cunning, deceitful, manipulative, arrogant..."

"So you liked him."

"I did," she said sadly. "We were allies, for a while. And he really did love Nikolas. He just... Well. We all have flaws. Unfortunately, for some of us they're fatal."


	11. Chapter 11

Lucky woke up with a backache to match his headache, and after a moment of disorientation, remembered lying down on the old church pew just as dawn had begun to turn the forest outside the kitchen windows from black to gray. The first thing he did was search out his handgun, and found it where he'd left it, within arm's length on top of his backpack. The night before rushed back to him, and he looked around for his unlikely rescuer. Cassadine was sitting at the far side of the table, reading another damn book. Lucky stood slowly, secured the gun in his waistband, and said, "Well, you didn't kill me in my sleep."

Cassadine looked up briefly. "Nor you me. A good sign for the day to come."

"Yeah, well, relax, we're not BFFs now or anything." He noticed the plate of food on the table in front of him-a few slices of brown bread, some cold meat and boiled potatoes. "What's this, room service?" Lucky picked up the plate and sniffed it.

"I'm afraid the chef has the day off."

_Oh good_, Lucky thought, _he's got jokes._

"It's midday." Cassadine put down his reading and rose from the table. "You should eat." He stopped by the door and pulled on a faded brown barn jacket, and Lucky noted his canvas pants and creased work boots. The incongruity of it was unsettling. A guy Lucky thought of as having been born in a dark suit, dressed like a farmer. "Find me when you're finished. I have some things to attend to outside."

"Hold on just a minute, here. That's it? You don't think I might have some questions?"

"I'm sure you do." He paused, seeing Lucky's skepticism. "I assure you, you're quite safe here."

"Right. You expect me to just take your word for that?"

"I don't expect you will, no." And with that he left Lucky alone in the kitchen once again.

"Still a dick," Lucky muttered, "At least that's reassuring." He poked at the food again, and decided he was hungry enough to take the odds on not being poisoned, so he made a sandwich and carried it with him as he went to inspect the rest of the house.

He found a sitting room with a threadbare rug and a single chair; upstairs, a washroom-thankfully, the plumbing still worked-two cell-like bedrooms, one clearly occupied, the other with only a bare cot, for occasional "guests" like him, he supposed. An empty attic. The only possible danger he'd found was a hunting rifle, unloaded. The house and its contents were utterly dull and ordinary. It was rustic, but certainly not cozy. And everywhere, books. Russian novels, Greek philosophy, French poetry, for God's sake... and none of them looked newer than 1960. The whole place had the feel of a Cold War icebox.

He pushed every light switch, but nothing was connected. He looked inside every cabinet and closet. He found no locked doors. He walked the rooms' perimeters, knocked on every wall, frustrated he couldn't find the one that would lead to a secret lair or a hidden passage, something that would reveal the Potemkin facade and make sense of this bizarre situation. He had no doubt it was some kind of setup, the only questions were _why_ and _who_. Last night, Stefan had seemed as caught off guard as he was, but he was an accomplished liar. It was far more appealing to assume he was behind this than that some unknown third party was somehow setting them _both_ up.

He was back in Cassadine's room, making a second search through his things, when he caught sight of him through the window as he turned a corner and disappeared behind the ruined church. Lucky hustled downstairs and out the door, rounding the back of the house at a fast walk. He passed a small vegetable garden and a few fruit trees. In the daylight, he saw that while most of the steeple was gone and the windows boarded, all four walls were still standing, and about half the roof had been replaced with thatch. He heard the hum of a generator as he approached the front of the building, and he knew there was something in there. His hand was on his gun when he stopped before the doorless arch.

A chicken pecked in the straw at his feet.

It was a barn, like he'd originally mistaken it for. The interior had been hollowed out and cleared of religious artifacts, probably a long time ago. An electric light on an extension cord hung from the wall. There was a damn _horse_ in the back, and right in front of him was Stefan Cassadine, feeding a goat.

"Unbe-fucking-lievable."

Cassadine wiped off his hands as Lucky stepped inside. "I presume you looked around to your satisfaction."

"Yeah," Lucky said. "All neat and tidy. Not exactly Wyndemere, though, is it?" He crouched down and scratched the goat behind the ears. "So, where's that radio?"

"This way," Cassadine said, and walked past him. Lucky looked up at the choir loft, hanging from the facade as if it could crumble at any moment. Reluctantly, he followed Stefan up the narrow, precarious stairs, alongside another trailing extension cord. Cassadine removed a panel from the charred carcass of an unimpressive pipe organ, and there it was. He switched it on, and waited.

There was a series of clicks, and then a man's voice said, "Front desk. Did your guest check in on time?"

"Yes." He exchanged a look with Lucky, who realized neither of them could be certain anymore exactly who they were talking to. "No difficulties."

"How is he enjoying the accommodations?"

Lucky broke in. "You're probably going to want to send my comment card up to corporate on this one."

"Mr. Johnson," the voice said. "Do you have your reservation number?" He rattled off the correct code in response to hearing his alias, as if everything was still S.O.P. "Thank you. We're sorry your business was delayed. How was your trip otherwise?" Lucky hesitated. The op had gone bad, and he would have to report it up, but he still didn't know what had really happened. Was the man in the village one of the tails he'd picked up on the train, or had he been planted there, waiting for him? At least he hadn't lost the package.

"Fine, like he said, no problems. Still have my souvenir."

"Very good. Innkeeper, checkout is at the usual time. Front desk out."

Cassadine concealed the radio and Lucky asked, "What's 'the usual time'?"

"First light tomorrow."

"Fantastic." He proceeded carefully back down the stairs after Stefan. "We've got the whole rest of the day to get reacquainted."

Back in the kitchen, they leaned over opposite corners of a map spread out on the table. "You'll leave by water. They'll meet us with a small boat at this stream," he pointed, "here."

Lucky gauged the distance. "Another long walk. Hope we don't run out of conversation."

"I suppose you'll want to ask your questions now."

"Yeah. Let's start with this one: how the _hell_ did you end up here?"

"I'll tell you anything you wish to know." He retrieved a tin from a shelf, and lit the stove. "But let's at least discuss it like civilized men."

A few minutes later, Lucky found himself drinking tea on the porch with his host. Surreal, but at this point he decided he might as well roll with it.

"My...departure from Port Charles remains...clouded."

"You going with the amnesia angle? That's original."

"Not as such, no. But there's...a lack of clarity surrounding those days. A sense of chaos. When I came to myself again, I was in a hospital in the Maritimes under the name John Doe. It seemed wiser to accept that identity than to announce myself."

"And be extradited."

"It's true, I didn't look forward to a warm homecoming."

"One thing I'll give to the Cassadines: your sense of self-preservation is on point." Stefan inclined his head as if he didn't disagree. "So. We have the good old Canadian health care system to thank that you're still around. That doesn't explain how a Greek Russian ended up running a WSB safehouse on the border of Western Ukraine."

"After a time, I took a new name, and found employment at a shipyard in Halifax. Eventually I was hired onto the crew of a container ship. A Cassadine ship, ironically, as it turned out."

Lucky tried to picture him in a wool cap and a peacoat. "You're kidding."

"It's not that strange. I did grow up on an island."

"No, it's pretty strange. Almost unbelievable, actually."

He poured himself more tea. "You asked for my story. How much of it you choose to believe is up to you."

Lucky didn't know what he believed right now; his instincts were all screwed up on this one. If this were a total stranger he'd met last night for the first time, his demeanor might read as credible. But of course this man was no stranger. He was a known and volatile element; the only thing you could trust about him was that he couldn't be trusted. And yet... this wasn't the same desperate man who had torn through Port Charles like a mad dog a dozen years ago. Whether it was time or something else that had changed him, Lucky couldn't guess. He was closer to the composed, aloof aristocrat who had first brought Nikolas into his family's life, but not entirely that either, and suddenly Lucky wondered how much of that had been a facade to begin with. He wondered how real this new version was, this plain-if not precisely humble-Stefan Cassadine with the simple, pastoral life. Beyond the differences in his appearance-the fading scars, grayer, fuller beard and more closely shorn hair-he carried a weariness and a weathering of years that was hard to fake.

"Fine, so you sailed the seven seas. You didn't get off the boat here, though."

"I was recognized. I don't know when or by whom. But about ten years ago, I was approached."

"By the WSB."

He nodded. "They made me an offer."

"What kind of offer? Set you up here, in exchange for what?"

"What does any intelligence agency want? Information."

"The only reason to make a deal with a bad guy is to get dirt on other bad guys. Who could you have-?" Lucky laughed. It made sense. "You sold out your family."

"I'm not particularly proud of it, but yes, I told them what I knew of Helena, Stavros, others..."

"Talk about burning bridges."

"We weren't on the best of terms beforehand, but this did have a feeling of...finality. If my mother ever found out... well, you can imagine she wouldn't be pleased."

Lucky hoped he disguised his reaction at hearing him speak of Helena in the conditional. Was it possible he didn't know? "So that's it. This isn't some fresh start. You're out here hiding from Helena."

"It would be foolish not to. You know her. In my position, wouldn't you do the same?"

"What I don't get is why. Why was it worth that much to you to stay underground in the first place."

He stared out into the forest, and Lucky thought he wouldn't answer. "You spoke of burned bridges," he said finally. "What does it matter when the most important routes are already cut off to you?"

In that moment, he looked desolate, and against his judgment, against his will, even, Lucky felt a surge of not compassion, but pity. He pushed it down, disturbed. He needed information, not to empathize with the guy. "It's a good story," he admitted. "Let's say I buy any of it. How do I know you're not just biding your time, planning something, waiting it out until Helena dies?"

Stefan looked at him, as directly as he had at any point so far. "How can I know you won't contact your father as soon as you leave this place? Or that you won't kill me yourself when my back is turned? Trust is a scarce commodity between the two of us."

"But let me guess, it's all we've got, right?" Lucky shook his head, rolled his eyes a little. "I'm not gonna kill you." He didn't know when he'd decided, or how, but it was true.

"Nor I you. You have my word," he promised, with a desiccated half-smile. "For what that's worth."

Lucky wondered what it might be worth; what anything might be worth to a dangerous man with nothing left to lose. "You didn't answer my question."

"When Helena dies…" Stefan spread his hands. "Perhaps the sky will be a little bluer, and the birds will sing a little louder. A rainbow may appear…"

Lucky laughed, despite himself. "An angel with a trumpet."

"Or simply the feeling of a burden lifting from my back. But I'll go on as before, and I'll have no other way to know."

"You don't keep up with the news, is that it? Not much cell service out here, I noticed. Guessing you don't have broadband out in that barn. The radio, though…"

"I allow myself little contact with the outside world."

Lucky was still skeptical. "To prevent discovery."

"And temptation."

"So you're not looking up old friends on Facebook…" Stefan looked at him quizzically. "Guess not." Was it really possible he didn't know about anything? From the last _dozen _years? Not just Helena, but all the rest of it. Emily's death. Or even Spencer? "You want me to believe you're content living out your life in self-imposed exile, cut off from the world on some back-of-nowhere hillside with more sheep than people. No money, no influence. No _power._"

"Content?" He said the word as if it were an unfamiliar concept. And it was true that what Lucky might have interpreted in someone else as serenity seemed more like detached acceptance now. "Contentment is irrelevant. But there is a measure of...relief...to be found in solitude."

"You mean, in running away."

"Walking away, perhaps." He contemplated the leaves at the bottom of his cup, but Lucky didn't think it was the future he was trying to read. Then he turned to him again with that pointed look. "Haven't you ever wanted to walk away from everything, Agent Spencer?"

Lucky didn't answer.

Cassadine stood, and said, "I'll give you an hour's notice before it's time to depart. I assume you can occupy yourself until then."

"That's it? You don't have any questions for me?" He felt the need to shift the balance of the conversation back in his favor. "Maybe... about Nikolas?"

And Lucky saw it, the barest flinch, in his eyes, in his posture, before he opened the door to re-enter the house. "No."

Tea time was over.


End file.
